Classic Cliché
by Dissonencia
Summary: Like cliché, they were opposites. Like cliché, their marriage was for peace and alliance. Like cliché, the purpose of their marriage succeeded. But unlike cliché, the two of them didn't work out.


_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: None...yet._

_Chapter Word Count: 851_

_General Summary: _Like cliché, they were opposites. Like cliché, their marriage was for peace and alliance. Like cliché, the purpose of their marriage succeeded. But unlike cliché, the two of them didn't work out.

**Classic Cliché**

_I of X_

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

_Once upon a time_

_A King marries a Queen_

_A Prince marries a Princess_

_And they live happily ever after_

And it was classic cliché of the most generic kind. The passive, predictable path of a royalty.

Unfortunately, so was Rukia and Ichigo's story. It was no extraordinary tale.

No. _Never_.

**…0…**

Rukia's marriage with Kurosaki Ichigo served its purpose well, the five-month, nuptial contract is about to end.

Five months ago, she was a princess and he was a prince from different lands. Five months after, at present time, she's a queen and he's a king of the same land. Ten days from now, he would still be a king and she a queen, but on separate lands.

Numerically speaking, she had only seen him fifteen times, three of which, he spoke to her. He dined with her once, on their wedding night. He spoke a total of thirty three words to her.

He _never_ slept with her.

The state of their marriage was both _convenient _for the both of them, to say the least. No extra time, no _needed_ emotions and no fake affections. All business. And it's about to end, still the same as day one. Perfect diagnosis. Constant indifference. Acute but forever chronic.

One hundred fifty three days. Exact count from the day of their wedding.

Kuchiki Rukia was a member of a revered noble clan, a princess. But then, so was Kurosaki Ichigo. _The_ heir, the man destined to inherit his clans' so-called barbaric and reckless ways.

They were both victors, in their own way. Rukia, a princess but at the same time, _not a princess_. At least, not a glorified, _pretty in pink_, fairy tale princess. She held several forts against enemies. Actually _held_ a sword, _fought_ with a sword and _won_ with a sword. Graceful, like a swan and ballerina in one. Not boisterous but timid and modest. Whereas Ichigo was a feared, naturally-born fighter. Hands bloody and eyes dangerous. Strong. Always has the sword to deal damage. Also, an alive statue of a man that has similarities to how honey attract bees.

She was snow, glass and satin. He was sand, steel and leather.

One could thought of an extraordinary story between the two, how they are attracted with one another despite their gapping oppositeness. Like the stranger royalties destined for each other. Like two puzzle pieces with complimentary sides that fit perfectly well.

Like cliché, they were opposites. Like cliché, their marriage was for peace and alliance. Like cliché, the purpose of their marriage succeeded.

But unlike cliché, the two of them didn't work out.

Yes. The two did not work out. Differences? There were plenty. Reconcilable? Probably. If they have time. But the damning thing is, neither of them has time for each other…

…or simply a mutual refusal to meet each other.

.

.

.

_Why?_

**….o0o…..**

Kurosaki Ichigo was a striking man.

That was very much true.

Rukia carefully followed his movements inside their bed chamber, as discreet as possible. Her posture elegant and uncaring. His, poised and stiff, standing around the blood velvet curtains. He was quiet, so was she.

Tonight is the eve of the start of her last week in this castle. And their state is still the same as day one.

He was _not_ a knight in shining armor or a _King_ for this matter. A knight –or King- in shining armor _never_ went to battle and got his metal wrecked and tested. It's not a sign of sure bravery, no hardship, no sweat, no blood, all pretty, all shiny, all polished. _Not Ichigo_.

He wore a rusty and used armor, bloody and sharp sword. A fierce, dangerous look in his eyes not a dashing, glossy hair. That was him.

And Rukia watched the grumpiness and morbidity swirl in the room where he directly stands. Rukia stilled, she was breathing calmly. She married this man. She married him, eyes closed around the truth.

The walls around her beautiful and elaborate, painted by master painters. Neither paid any attention. Rich and lush, their physical world.

"May I ask…" she started, voice so cold but polite. She was talking to a _king_, after all.

He gave her one nod and a crude, "What?"

Rukia looked straight at him, piercing. They were right, he was rude.

"…why are you here?"

He looked at her again, somewhat angry… "Why are _you_ here?" he countered, almost spat out.

"I live here." she answered, straight and unyielding. And she met his gaze, bold as always.

He seemed to be very surprised, he scowled harder. Ambivalent to her answer.

Rukia remained unmoving, sitting on her chair. The teapot of cold, chamomile and jasmine tee hung in the air. She inhaled it. Soothing.

Contrary to him, scowling at the far side of the room. _Really_ angry.

What was it that angered him? Rukia wondered.

She caught sight of him giving her an irritated growl. He walked away from the curtains and walked out the door. The door shut with a slam.

And she decided that both she and he will never work out.

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

**Author's Note**

I'm on roll tonight. I don't know why.

…

…

…

_**Preview **_

…**o0o…**

"_Don't you think it's a bit ironic..?"_

"_What is?"_

"_That we consummated our wedding at the end of our marriage."_

"_No."_

…

…

…

**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


End file.
